The Soup Kitchen
by HecateA
Summary: Matt Sloan never believed until karma until two volunteers got picked up. Oneshot.


**So I'm on this crazy mission to write a story for every character who has a slot in the PJO archives before the end of the year. It's crazy, I know, but I am totally going to try. After this story, I'll have 89 more characters to go. It just so happened that I've been thinking a lot about karma and cursing the disruptive people in my class recently, so voila. **

**Also I'd like to make something very clear before anyone reads this: I know that not everyone who needs help (such as a soup kitchen) to provide for themselves is a horrible jerk who made horrible mistakes his whole life and who deserves it. I'm not accusing, pointing fingers, stereotyping or any of that.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters shown below or the premise of Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

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**The Soup Kitchen**

"Watch it," he grumbled to the obnoxious woman who'd tried to cut him in line at the soup kitchen.

She shot him a dark look, but Matt couldn't take her seriously. Her stringy red hair was dirty and tangled and tuffs of it were missing. The freckles on her face weren't as orange as they probably were when she was clean. She was wearing several lairs of clothes taken from thrift shops, donation boxes or trash cans.

Of course he shouldn't judge, he wasn't in any better shape. He too was standing in line at the soup kitchen right? He'd clearly done something wrong with his life as well.

The line shuffled forwards. He heard a great deal of shuffling behind him and spun around just in time to see the redhead pushing herself in the line, flipping off the guy behind her when he tried to protest. She slammed her tray down on the counter and glared at him, as if to say _have a problem with my cutting?_

He didn't. It wasn't his problem that she was standing there, and it wasn't his problem that some other guy was waiting one more person behind at the most occupied kitchen in New York. He didn't get into other people's business as a rule. However he didn't like getting glared at. _That _was his problem.

"Don't look at me like that," Matt snarled. He turned away. Living on the streets had given him an even more piss-poor attitude than the one he'd had as a kid, surprisingly. His parents chastised him for it whenever they remembered and found him, and had actually kicked him out for that very reason. It set his teeth on edge. The Sloan family was loaded. _Loaded. _Absolutely. Loaded. And after he'd flunked out of college they couldn't even take him in? His parents were jerks. Maybe that's how he'd ended up being a jerk.

The woman looked away, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear and back into her bandana. She was wearing an old hoody- Yancy Academy Graduating Class 2011. She must be his age then.

He turned back and the line shuffled. Eventually there came the cutlery holders and piles of bowls and plates to pick one from.

Two kids were manning the soup today. They were teenagers, sixteen and fourteen years old about. The boy had dirty blond hair and incredibly light green eyes.

"Hello sir," he said with a smile. "We've got two soup options today- chicken noodle or tomato."

"Tomato," he muttered. The girl, dark hair and same eyes, smiled and motioned him over. Her shirt had some kind of science joke on it- he couldn't remember why it was funny but he'd heard it before. She ladled some soup into his bowl with the sincerest smile in the world on her lips, humming under her breath. He felt bad about being grumpy around her- she had that kind of energy.

Matt cleared his throat.

"Are you two siblings?" He mumbled to break the silence.

"Mmm-hmm," she said. "Eric's the eldest, though."

"Very nice," Matt muttered. "Thank you."

"No problem sir, have a nice meal."

He moved on to grab some bread and an apple from two baskets and went to the last table that wasn't full. He sat down and dug in, his stomach growling and relishing the food.

The redhead sat at his table and Matt choked. For Christ's sake, really?

"Relax," she said. "There's no other spot. It's not like I want to be there."

She had the same piss-poor attitude as he did. Fantastic.

The two kids were chirping and talking to an old woman with thin, fluffy hair like cotton candy. The boy said something, a sarcastic sly smile at his lips as if he'd just made a joke, and made her howl with laughter.

"Bless you two kids," she said wiping a tear from her eyes.

"Anytime Mrs. Bradbury," the boy –Eric- said.

"Tomato, right?" The girl guessed before pouring her a bowl.

"I bet they're just scooping up volunteering hours," Matt muttered.

"Nah," the woman said. "They're good kids. Heard them talking once. This is just their thing together."

"Good thing I asked you," Matt said.

She offered him another one of her glares, the kind Matt was growing weary of, and dug into her soup again.

The little bell on the door rung and a man who didn't belong entered. He wasn't here for the soup that was for sure. He was wearing a black jacket over a blue hoody, clean clothes, and there was a shiny badge and a gun at his waist.

"Eric, Asteria," he said.

The two kids looked up at him.

"Sorry Dad," Asteria said. "Someone skipped a shift and they needed two people to cover, we tried calling but…"

"It's okay," he said. "Mom just didn't want you taking the subway alone at this hour, come on."

"Shit," Matt muttered.

"Language." The woman said. "What's _your _big problem?"

"I know the guy," he muttered ducking his head. A devilish smile spread on her face. She was going to call him over…

She opened her mouth and looked up, ready to call, but then she paled too. "Holy smokes."

"You know him too?"

"I think so… he looks like a guy I went to school with. For a year."

"Percy Jackson?" Matt Sloan asked.

"Seriously?" She asked.

"Yeah, he was such a dumb kid they kept expelling him and moving him around," she said. "I used to tease him about it."

"Same. And he couldn't stop getting in trouble either."

"Oh yeah, I remember that. He set my school on fire once. God, it looks like he's a cop now? A detective or something. Geez."

"And his kids are nice."

"Sounds like he's married," Matt said. He hadn't been able to hold a girl in college or high school, football jockey or not. According to his parents, he'd missed a lot of life and happiness with that. He usually replied that he was also missing a lot of life out on the streets being homeless, but that's when they shook their heads and started talking again.

The two kids had disappeared from the counter and soon came out the personnel only door, minus the hairnets, plus jackets and schoolbags. The girl held a book in her hands- an anthology of Dickens. They were calling out salutations to the other volunteers and shrugging off thanks for having covered an extra shift. The door swung behind them until it lost momentum and stayed shut.

Jackson kissed the girl on the head and patted the boy on the back.

"Anyone change the world at school today? Find a cure for cancer? Walked on the moon"

"Ha, ha, Dad." The girl said hitting his arm. Asteria, her name was? It was weird. From some old story, he thought although he couldn't remember.

"Hey, I was serious. Thank gods you've got your mother's brains."

It was definitely Percy Jackson. He always said 'gods' instead of 'god' in expressions, a lisp or stutter or something.

"Did Uncle Tyson get here yet?" The boy, Eric-right, said.

Tyson? Wasn't that the retard Jackson hung out with at school? The big dope that smelled horrible and had the stupid scars on his backs?

"Yeah, but he can't stay for long- business et cetera. He's really excited to see you guys."

Matt remembered the victorious feeling that came with having teased the Tyson kid about his scars until he cried –like an over-sized kindergartner He worked in business now? For the love of God, it was like everyone but him had scored big in the game of life.

Jackson held the door for his kids as they ran out, and followed them. His hands were in his pockets and he walked away contently with a teenager on each side of him.

"Damn," Matt said once he couldn't see him through the windows yet.

"How'd that idiot do so well when we ended up in places like this?" His table partner said waving her hand to show the soup kitchen.

"The world's messed," Matt said leaning back in his seat. "The world's just messed."

"I guess he always worked hard," the woman mused.

"Bull," Matt said. But it made him think. "He was a nice guy, I guess. Nice to people that no one else was nice to."

He remembered Jackson barging into the locker room, punching Matt across the jaw and promising Tyson that he'd help him change in secret from this point on.

She stretched her hands above her head.

"Whatever," she said. "It doesn't matter where other people are in life. Not my problem."

No, it didn't he supposed. But it kind of felt karmatic to Matt. After all those times standing guard in the locker room while his dope of a friend changed, all those times turning around and telling Matt to shut up when he made a refrigerator-box joke in class, all those times he'd take a hit for a scrawny little kid during a game of dodge ball…

Matt just kept spooning soup in his mouth.


End file.
